Who Am I Living For?
by Teslar
Summary: I have no memory of how I got here. Or what they have done to me. Each day merges into the last, like the previous day eclipsed by the next. The same unchanging routine, over and over.


I do not own 'Legend of Korra'

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><p><span><strong>Who Am I Living For?<strong>

**Chapter 1**

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><p><em>UNKNOWN LOCATION<em>

It's been 301 days. Or 43 weeks. Or 10 months. However I calculate it, it's still a while. It's a rough estimate but I doubt I'm not far off.

From what. I don't know. I've forgotten.

Since I arrived here. Maybe?

From where I don't remember.

I have no memory of how I got here. Or what they have done to me.

The only ones I have are the ones I have created within these four walls. One metal door, one small narrow barred window too high to look out off. And 456 scratches next to my cot. Created by myself or the previous occupant is a mystery. One small poorly maintained toilet and an undersized broken sink, attached above. The faucet stuck on a constant two second interval drip.

Each day merges into the last, like the previous day eclipsed by the next. The same unchanging routine, over and over. The only way I keep track of the days is the merger glow of daylight, and the like clockwork slop they call food they post through the slot under the bolted door twice a day. Then again I can't remember what real food even is anymore unless it actually looks like this in various shades of grey and brown.

Slumped against the cold lifeless wall. Glancing absent-mindedly at the shackles clamped around my wrists and ankles. They've left me scarred and red from the long term chafing. Fingering around the dark twisted markings engraved into them.

Unsure if it's the confinement that keeps me feeling weak or possibly the drugs in the food. With the lack of strength it difficult to do a lot. I just seem to be in a constant drain of energy; whether it is the cells unusual material or an additional feature of the restraints I couldn't say .Permanent reminders of this constant confinement of solitude. I feel broken, like an empty husk of what I think I once was.

Meditation is the only thing that keeps me sane anymore. If I can still call myself sane.

The unbolting of the door grabs my attention. The familiar figure clad in black holds the door opening. The dim light reflects off the green tint off their googles creating a predatory gleam, clad in a dark attire. No words are exchanged. I know the drill. A familiar folded tattered towel is held out to me, with a small chunk of carbolic soap and clean clothes. I take it from his grasp without a word. Which I clutch to my chest, afraid it will be snatched away.

I stand just outside my cell against the wall, waiting for the guard to bolt it shut again. They clear their throat and turn back towards me. The green tubes that run along the ceiling and either wall like veins, making this place feel alive. Creating an eerie dim light, occasional flickers that used to send a shiver down my spine. I turn and walk for 47 steps, then turn left for another 29 before coming to a stop in front of a similar door. I stand to the side again and wait for the guard to open it.

The familiar wet room that has shower heads along one side with partitions. Every space seems to have been decorated in 50 shades of grey, stripping all life from everything. Even the people.

The guard is silently greeted by another, which is stationed inside clad in the same uniform. I see that the room is already occupied by another that is occupying the first shower. I've seen her before in here, tall with dark hair. As little as eye contact could get either of us knocked to the ground.

In the centre rust stains surround the drain. The tiles that cover every inch of the interior. The air smells damp and mouldy. A chill passes through sending a chill up my spine. I step through and wait for the door to close behind me with a loud metal clang, before I walk further into the room past her.

I place the towel and clothes over the second partition, and place the soap in the small holder next to the shower tap. I remove the prison like clothing, plain tunic and drawstring trousers. After shedding my dirty clothes, placing them next to the rest. I look over to the guard standing by the door like a sentry statue unmoving. Unnerving stare from the faceless guard.

I turn toward the wall and turned the leaver, which answered with a grunt upon the turn. The old rattle of the pipes along the wall which resulted with spittle before lazy spray of cold water choked out. I stand there for a moment soaking it in letting the water pass over my fatigued form. My hand slips off the tarnished handle, dropping back to my side. I waste the first 30 seconds staring blankly before I reach for the soap and begin another routine. I only get four minutes of water which is enough to wash my butchered hair and sunken body. Passing my hands across faded scars scattered from past fights or torture who could say. I couldn't.

The 4 minutes are over in no time. The other woman had left silently a little while ago.

I rub my hair with little enthusiasm. Wiping the towel over the rest of myself. Slipping on the clean set of clothes routinely. Letting my hair fall in front of my face. I gather the dirty articles dropping them into the laundry shoot on the far wall.

I must look a mess, but I am long past caring of my appearance.

The guard follows me back to my room, and leaves me again to own thoughts.

I stand there for a moment, before I fold onto my cot. Encircling myself in the itchy blanket I swaddle myself like a new born baby, like a protective cocoon from the creeping chill that has crept into my cell.

It is unknown to me and the other woman are the only occupant of this prison. I have yet to lay eyes or witness anything that would lead me to believe there is anybody else being held here but us. Knowing I wasn't the only one being kept here was to some relief. That I wasn't alone.

After an unknown amount of time sleep claims me pulling me into a tangle of dark meaningless dreams. Chops and cuts of random scenes that don't make any sense.

A bright blinding light jolts me out of the dream world. Brighter than the sun, I shield my eyes with the back of my hand. Stumbling from my ensnarement of sheets.

The light recedes. Plunging me back into darkness. Swallowing me in the shadows clutches, now seeming darker than before. My mind has perked up at this new occurrence. Unlike a flash of lightning which had occurred before. A red glow now leaking through the fissures in the door.

...This was different.

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><p>Hello all thanks for reading. Please leave feedback or ideas. I know my writing isn't the best; there is no need to point that out.<p> 


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